


dis/connecting

by kalypsobean



Category: Intelligence (US TV 2014)
Genre: F/M, First Time, Stress Relief, sensory stimulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-19
Updated: 2015-04-19
Packaged: 2018-03-24 19:42:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3782023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalypsobean/pseuds/kalypsobean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What they didn't tell him was that he would not be able to turn it off, or control it. For some reason, spending his downtime with Riley helps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	dis/connecting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [skieswideopen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skieswideopen/gifts).



> skieswideopen likes first times, friendship, understated romance and wanted them both to stay alive. I hope this fits!  
> (Note: This work contains minor spoilers for The Wolverine (2013).)

What they didn't tell him was that he wouldn't be able to turn it off. All those times everyone stares at him in wonder because he found a detail they couldn't from their keyboards and screens, it's not because he was able to hack in himself so quickly; it's because he was already looking. Of course, he can control it, but it only extends to filtering out the parts he doesn't need. All they need to do is mention something - a place, a name - and the subconscious part of his mind that would normally be presenting him with what he already knows or telling him that it's new to him is actually searching through the web, pushing firewalls out of the way and discarding non-relevant results until he has what he needs.

When he's not working, it's almost worse. He doesn't always choose to revisit Amelia's death; sometimes it's a ghost that follows him around, on those days where he feels her betrayal more keenly. In the same way, the evidence walls he builds don't get packed away into boxes and filed when his involvement is over; they hover, haunting him. Sometimes, he sees things he didn't before, things that taunt him with how he could have acted differently, what he could have predicted and what he should have seen. The names recur, and sometimes the walls blur together as he makes room in his memory for new ones.

 

It's the same when he looks at people, meets them for the first or the hundredth time. They're followed around by pictures and writing, and he's always drawn to reading them even when he knows what they say, that they haven't changed. Riley calls him on it if she notices him staring, looking past a subject at something nobody else can see, but she's not always there. In his downtime, when the web crowds in until he can't breathe, she's never there; he can see her, sometimes, through the window, but it's not enough.

That's why he calls her.

 

"We just saw each other," she says. He doesn't reply; her cell phone bill, her personnel file, her credit card history are crowding out the other images, the ones he doesn't want to see. "I'm coming over there," she says. She hangs up, knows enough to not give him the chance to tell her not to come, that he's okay. This has happened before. 

 

This time, she comes prepared with supermarket popcorn and a handful of new release DVDs. It took her twenty three minutes to arrive and she's still in the clothes she wore to work; she went to the store as soon as she ended the call and came straight from there, rather than passing his building to return to hers and walking back again. After the last time she insisted on leaving a change of clothes, though, so she goes to his room to change while he searches through the fridge for the beer from last week; it's behind the lettuce and ham sandwich he always makes for lunch and forgets to eat until he's brought it home and is too hungry to wait for dinner, even if he makes something simple.

 

Riley comes back, catches him with the last few bites of the sandwich left. She gives him an exasperated look. "Still have the rest of the taco mix?"

"Yep," he says.

"I'll make, you go pick one and get it started. Popcorn after dinner," she says, when he reaches for the bag. "But I'll have the beer now." She snatches one of the bottles from the bench and shoos him out of his kitchen.

 

DVDs are good for him because they bombard him with distractions and sound to drown the rest out; the information he gets are things like the actors' IMDb pages and the occasional tabloid story, although he's had to become used to knowing the ending well in advance. They draw his attention away from the CNN news ticker, from Twitter updates on every emergency on the East Coast and potential situations requiring his involvement. Sometimes Riley brings thrillers, or action movies, and they joke about how unrealistic they are, or point out where procedures and protocols have been amended or discarded, if they were researched at all. Tonight, though, as if Riley somehow knew that he needed to turn off from all that completely, or maybe needed to herself, he has to choose between giant robots, magicians and a man with claws.

 

Riley puts a bowl on the table and he picks a case at random as she settles on the sofa behind him. "Hurry up, this won't stay warm forever," she says, so he slides the disc in and lets the screen wake up on its own. Riley is one of those people who takes up space when she is relaxed, which was unexpected and bewildering at first, but he's grown used to it. He settles next to her, and within seconds of getting his first handful of nachos and refried beans, her body is pressed into his. It's only natural that they should bump into each other, since they're eating from the same bowl, but tonight he revels in the touches, knowing that they aren't threatening or intended to cause pain. He's not even sure if Riley, usually so aware of her body and her surroundings, knows she's doing it. Though, as an arrow pierces a man's hand on the screen and he flinches, a phantom pain slicing through his palm, she squeezes his knee as if she knows what he's feeling.

 

The constant touch allows him to lose himself in the movie, although he has a running sidebar of scans from comics to inform him of the history and storylines of each character, and deleted scenes filling in the plot holes. Somehow, he reaches a point where he feels relaxed, as if he's managed, for once, to leave work behind. He stretches, feeling the bones in his spine realign and the tension in his shoulders release as he pushes his hands into the air and lets his arms drop back to the sofa. Riley tenses then, and he realises that his arm landed on her, crossing over her arm with his hand on her thigh. He wonders if he should apologise, or just pull his arm away, but as he's considering, Riley starts to stroke the inside of his forearm. He feels like maybe his breath should catch, or he should be aroused, but instead it's just calming, another thing to focus on, to rely on. Her touch is even, rhythmic, and, gradually, he's able to let his awareness of her fade and turn more attention back to the movie.

That's when he realises that the pictures, even his awareness of the grid, have faded. He still knows they are there, but they don't intrude in the way they always have, tricking his optic nerve into processing things he doesn't see and derailing his thoughts along multiple paths. He doesn't know he's thinking about how the movie will end, knows that there were seconds cut from the final scene, because between the movie itself, his stomach grading from feeling full to being able to handle the popcorn, and Riley, the data is only there in the background, like a difficult problem being put aside and subconsciously worked on while life continues around it. 

 

It's when the credits start that Riley lets up on his arm, though at some point she'd started using her nails; the sharper sensation was more relaxing, more difficult to disregard, though because she kept her nails short he doubted that she was able to leave marks. She, rather easily, uses his leg as a balance point to turn herself around and sit over him, her knees touching the outside of his thighs. He leans back and gives her room to settle, but she takes his hands and places them on her back, under her singlet, so he can steady her, so he can touch her. 

She leans in, touching her forehead to his, and shifts forward until her weight is settled close to his, so that they're stable together; he could move his head only a little and be kissing her, and he only needs to shift slightly to be able to rub against her, though he's not hard enough yet that he'll enjoy it. 

He's not even sure it's about that, although he knows, objectively, that he finds Riley attractive, and that she's not unmoved by him, though they've been through enough that it doesn't matter in the field. Which they are not, as Riley's mouth on his, just for a second, reminds him.

"Is this okay?" Riley says. Her voice is husky, lower than normal, and in the corner of his eye a page opens with phrases like 'physiological arousal' and 'parasympathetic nerves'. He has to look at her to push it away, but this time it works. He imagines the window closing, visualising it folding in on itself and disappearing, as if with the click of a mouse, and he's left with Riley's eyes so close to his and the way he can feel ambient warmth between them.

"Yes," he says, and closes his eyes to see only shadows, and feel only her.

**Author's Note:**

> The movies are Pacific Rim, The Wolverine and The Incredible Burt Wonderstone. He ends up picking The Wolverine. I'm aware that video rental stores are rarer nowadays than they used to be, but I don't think Gabriel would bother subscribing to a streaming service...


End file.
